


The Nuances of Being Right

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-01
Updated: 2009-09-01
Packaged: 2019-01-19 22:21:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12419466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: Andromeda Black is a pureblood. She's aristocratic and elegant. Ted Tonks is a Muggleborn. He is the last thing in the world she wants to spend time with. He is the filth underneath her nails and she's stuck in a library with him. ABxTT 6th Year OneShot.





	The Nuances of Being Right

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

  ** _A/N_** _: I got all these ideas in my head about life and pride and blood and I had to write them down. This is more a platform for some ideas I had than a story in itself, but I hope it might make someone think. The Pureblood vs Mudblood debate is such an interesting example of close mindedness and emotive language and the values you're brought up with and how they shape your views. I always wonder why Slytherins and purebloods are so prejudiced and I never felt that it was really explored in the books. You don't join an evil dark lord for nothing! So, I thought I'd get some discussion on it!  
_

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

She was alone in a small corridor, moving quickly and silently. Students didn't use this pathway much. The lights were always too dim and the portraits were of ugly, old men and gruesome, ancient battles. The shadows cast by the sombre statues that guarded the hall were long and eerie, enhancing the sinister tenor. Students spoke of odd chills down their spine and ghostly figures lurking in the shadows and they generally avoided the route. Nonetheless it was the quickest way from the Slytherin common room to the library and she didn't listen to such bull. They were in a magical school, after all, and if you jumped at every oddity you'd have extremely strong hamstrings.

 

She'd requested to complete the task solo - she worked better alone, anyway - but had been told in that sickly sweet voice of Professor Heidi's, "No, no, dearie. Dumbledore did insist and Ted's a nice, smart boy. You'll have fun."

 

Fun. Oh, yes, she was absolutely lightheaded with gaiety. She got to waste her evening explaining Runes to some thickheaded Mudblood. She couldn't think of a more useless way to spend her time. To add insult to injury, Rabastan Lestrange had invited her to a seventh year party and she would have given her beautiful silver necklace to go. But no, Ted Tonks couldn't do any other night this week.

 

Really, what did Ravenclaws even do? He probably had some Mudblood Club meeting or catch-up Transfiguration lessons.

 

She reached a turn and went left into a bright, open hall. Some second years scuttled past her, gossiping. She sashayed by, ignoring them, her robes rippling lightly around her limber legs, her head full of venomous thoughts. _Interhouse projects_. For a genius, Dumbledore could sure be moronic. As if being ordained to mix with other houses was going to change the truth. As if this war waere as small as Hogwarts and he could reshape their ideals with a school project. It wasn't about houses, for Merlin's sake, it was about purity, loyalty and honour and preserving what is good. It was about the fact that she had countless generations of pure, powerful wizarding blood running through her veins and she couldn't get out of a stupid assignment. It was about that which is right and that which is just.

 

As she approached the library, the destined meeting place, her lips were tight and her mind was racing with what she would say to Ted Tonks if he gave her half a chance. She shifted her ebony bag and stormed on.

 

She could see him clearly in her mind's eye. He'd have that cocky grin plastered on making him look goofily pleased with himself. He always fidgeted. He'd run his hand through his hair, drum his fingers on his thigh, doodle nonsensical lines in his notebook. It was like he'd been brought up in a pig sty. She smiled slightly at that. She supposed being brought up by Muggles was closely akin to the upbringing of young piglets. In any case, she'd never seen any behavior from their offspring to disprove the notion.

 

She could just picture Ted Tonks in his disheveled robes sitting in the mud. He was never properly groomed. He was always eating. He laughed all the time, especially when it was inappropriate. And, by Circe, he was always winking at her, of all things. He - a common Mudblood - winking at her, Andromeda Black, a well-bred pureblood young lady. If it weren't so downright offensive, it would be ludicrously funny.

 

She entered the library, giving a small nod of acknowledgment to the small librarian, who smiled in response as Andromeda swept past. The boy had mentioned a secluded corner he liked to study in and suggested she meet him there. She'd agreed haughtily, but was beginning to regret not asking the exact location of this supposed corner as she slowed in her stride and looked unconfidently around.

 

If there was one thing she didn't like to be, it was unconfident.

 

"Andy!"

 

A voice yelled out half of her name and she instinctively turned towards it. There,  nestled in between the rows of books, waving his arms ridiculously and beaming at her, was the unfortunate curse - Ted bloody Tonks. What kind of a name was Tonks? He stood up and increased the velocity of his arm movements.

 

Merlin, she'd seen him! Why did he continue to wave like that? How utterly humiliating!

 

She turned very deliberately towards him and started to stride, hoping he'd stop jumping up and down like a chimp and regain a little _dignity_ , if that wasn't too much to ask. Thankfully, he sat down and started shuffling his books and papers around. She noted that they were splayed haphazardly all over the table. Typical. Even organization was beyond him.

 

She reached him as quickly as was proper and stood at the end of the table, directly across from the grinning boy. She flicked her curls over her shoulder and extended a hand – politely, if somewhat reluctantly.

 

"Andromeda," she said frostily as he grasped hold of her dainty palm and shook vigorously, still grinning idiotically.

 

"So you're going to be all cold and Slytherin-y?" he said merrily.

 

She stared at him dubiously. When did Slytherin become an adjective? He held her gaze and kept her hand until she dropped it suddenly, only just suppressing the distaste that threatened to mar her features.

 

"We've been in class together for five years, you know," he continued, moving towards the only chair that wasn't already taken by a textbook. "I'm only pointing it out because, well, you just introduced yourself and, while it's sort of charming, I'm going to refrain from doing the same because I'd like to think we're past that stage in our friendship. Really, I was never one for small talk and the whole 'I'm so-and-so' and 'I like to golf' part has never appealed. So is it ok if we just skip it? We have to work together, after all, and I think you might actually have a bit of fun if you let loose a little."

 

She continued to stare at him as he rambled. Was he simply unaware of common courtesy? Did he think he was being nice? Did he expect her to know what 'golf' was? _Why_ didn't he straighten his collar? Her cool eyes analysed him – his old sneakers, tied in a double bow with frayed ends; his jeans, worn along the hem and with a pen mark on the thigh; his shirt proclaimed in loud letters 'The Rolling Stones' with a picture of some long-haired men holding Muggle tools that bore no resemblance to rotating rocks; his robes, which were barely robes at all – they ended at his knees and were made of some kind of thin cotton.

 

"Hey! Andy!? Anyone there?"

 

She quickly shifted her gaze and realized he was holding a chair back for her. She straightened her shoulders and moved to sit in it. He jokingly pulled it back and she shot him a disdainful glare. He laughed at it and gestured for her to sit, moving back to his original seat.

 

"It's Andromeda," she said, "No one calls me 'Andy'."

 

"It can be our little secret, then."

 

Andromeda's face remained blank and composed and she began to take her books from her bag. Ted's eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief. He studied her for any crack of warmth that might escape the indifferent mask.

 

She looked around. The table was at the end of a lengthy row of old, leather-bound volumes sitting on towering shelves. Like many of the oddities of Hogwarts, there seemed to be no logic behind the placement of a single table at the gloomy end of the library. She wondered if it had always been here or had decided to show up today solely to force her into a claustrophobic corner with a Mudblood. She wouldn't put it past the headmaster to arrange it so. He could be a malicious old coot.

 

Ted passed a curious eye over the books she'd bought, lingering on some of the rarer titles with a look of intrigue. He lifted up some of his own messy papers, pulling out a bundle of crinkled pages.

 

"I've jotted down a few idea, I hope that's ok?" he asked. Without waiting for a reply, he continued, "So, I was thinking it'd be really interesting to focus on The Falsumon Theory. I've done a bit of research on it and the similarity between the magical signature of wandless magic and efficacious runology is astounding. It makes a lot of what we memorise almost obsolete if the theory's true. It really could be, too, which would be insane! Have you seen Norse runes? Some of them are virtually indecipherable they're so poorly crafted and yet the magical signature is still faintly discernable. After all those years!"

 

She opened her Ancient Runes text and started flicking through it indifferently. She run her fingers down the contents of a chapter then flipped to a page.

 

"The theory that runes are merely superfluous symbols to hold our magical power?"

 

"Yes, that it doesn't really matter what we write as long as we _believe_ it will work. That you could, in theory, provoke the same kind of power with no symbology at all. I know it's not in the course outline, but I'm sure if we made a proposal?"

 

For the first time that night, Ted seemed unsure. His hand reached up to his hair and his fingers smoothed their way through the light brown strands. He does that when he's nervous, Andromeda observed, and filed it away.

 

"Why not choose something in the course?" Andromeda queried, leafing through her course outline. "There's some interesting theories in here that we'll actually be tested on, why not research one of these? Hangleton's Vigilante has always interested me."

 

Ted considered her carefully.

 

He was infuriating, she thought. She'd asked about The Falsumon Theory in class just two days ago. He must know she was fascinated by it. He must be testing her, teasing her, trying to see if she'll relax for a second and let him be exasperatingly pleasant. He was like that, Ted Tonks was. He'd say hi to her in the corridors no matter whom she was with; he'd wave at her if he caught her eye in the dining hall. Sometimes she caught him looking at her purely to spite her. She'd catch his eye, glower darkly - and hopefully menacingly - at him and he would laugh and go back to talking to his friends. She couldn't stand the boy.

 

"I didn't think you were the kind to stick the to outline, Miss Black!" he remarked, honey eyes alight with glittering impishness. "I thought maybe you'd like to study something a little more ground-breaking. I was quite excited to work with such a brilliant mind, I must say."

 

Flattery. Like that would work. All the compliments in the world couldn't hide the fact that he was an incorrigible, vexing Mudblood who thought too much of himself.

 

Unperturbed by her indifference, he resumed. "Also, I guess I have a particular interest in this sort of magic."

 

She was curious, though she wouldn't let him know that. How could he possibly have a tie to any particular kind of magic? There was no history in his blood. He didn't have the names of his ancestors on the pages of the books in the room or painted in the pictures that decorate the corridors.

 

Casually, she asked, "You do?"

 

Ted nodded and looked straight at her. "Don't you wonder why a Muggle can write _exactly_ the same thing on a wall and it's just that – symbols on a wall? Why is a potion mixed by a Muggle ineffective? We must be doing something besides writing and mixing – we must be transferring magical power to it unknowingly. My sister mixed brandywater and gillyweed together in the holidays – she's three, you know, always in everything – and I was practically screaming with worry, but _nothing_ happened. They're still magical ingredients, right? And yet nothing – no explosion, no chaos, not even smoke! Imagine that! Doesn't that just fascinate you?"

 

Andromeda realized she was curiously matching his gaze and rapidly resumed scanning the course outline. She'd read it all before and knew most of it from memory, but she took her time. Ted waited diplomatically for her to finish, drawing thick, black, random curves in the corner of his notes. When she had delayed for as long as was plausible, she looked up and into the caramel eyes of the boy in front of her.

 

"You want to do a project on the inadequacies of Muggles?" she asked, nonplussed. It was surely a questionable move for a Mudblood to want to further the gap between himself and the purebloods. Ted shifted and suddenly seemed wary and defensive.

 

"I don't see how you made that connection, Andromeda," he remarked, "My sister isn't magical, yes, but she is anything but inadequate."

 

She was tempted to smirk at him, but the murky cloud that was making its way over their conversation suggested she should tread carefully. "I'm sure she's lovely," she said instead, trying to sound sincere and nearly succeeding. "However, you said it yourself, she can't perform magic. She doesn't have the gift the world you've entered is based upon. She doesn't have the abilities that you have been blessed with. Surely you can see that there is an inadequacy there? She can't perform magic."

 

Andromeda grappled with the concept. It seemed so stagnant, archaic and impossible. It seemed so boring. She was used to every entity having its own life – the ability to change, to move, to adjust and adapt. She'd seen Muggle photographs before and their frozen faces, kept in one tiny moment for all eternity, unnerved her. They were stuck. It chilled her to think of all those people forever captured, unmoving, hanging in frames all throughout England.

 

"It's not about being inadequate, Andy, she's just not like us. It doesn't make her, or my parents, or my friends deficient. It doesn't make them bad people. They just don't have the skill we have. That's it. My father is one of the most intelligent people I know. He understands people and life and if I can be half the man he is I think I'll turn out alright – but he's not magical. We're not defined by our magic, I don't think. We're defined by our choices and who we choose to be and what we do to be that person. I'd prefer to be magic-less and a good, happy man than a bigoted magical redneck. I don't understand how you purebloods cling on to the idea of being _better_ because you're magical. So you can manipulate your surroundings with a stick – does that make you a good person? Does it make what you do right? I don't think so. At least, I've seen no evidence of it."

 

She was already shaking her head. Her cynical eyes bore into his idealistic ones. Exasperation mixed with the dark mahogany and old books scent of the library. "This is why Muggleborns are so vexing! You don't understand the magical world and you don't understand the gravity of your gift. We let you into the world that _we've_ crafted and _we've_ guarded and you take it for granted. You tell your families our confidences and you let your three-year-olds play with the magical secrets that we've been trying to keep out of their reach for hundreds of years. You don't understand the frustration and injustice we're forced to live with – we, who have powers far greater than any Muggle, must live in fear of them discovering us! We live our whole lives concealing our brilliance and our artistry from lesser creatures! It's disgraceful and debasing. We, who contain more power in an eyelash than they do in their whole body, must hide from _them_? We, who have built this society, must take in _their_ children and teach them? How is that right, Tonks? How is that fair?"

 

She was locked in his indignant glare. She sat straight and tall, the way she'd been trained to, and didn't let her fury take over her visage. She sat up tall and silently challenged him to disagree, her lips pursed, her eyebrows raised, full of righteous anger.

 

He thought she was more graceful than anyone he'd ever come across, but he didn't say it.

 

She smiled triumphantly after a moment or two. Really, how could he retaliate?  Even if he disagreed, he was the one gaining everything from the current arrangement of wizarding society. It would be rather rude to argue. He could maybe thank her, instead. She picked up one of her own books, an ancient tome on Norse Runes, and began to look for anything that could be of use.

 

Ted didn't budge. He remained still and he kept his eyes on her. As soon as he saw her posture relax, he began to speak.

 

"Oh, how very sad for you. Imagine having to take in 'lesser creatures' and teach them your secrets. Imagine not sharing your magical world with anyone else. What a tragic predicament. Every pureblood loves to get all aggrieved about the 'injustice of Mudbloods' entering their world. 'We built it', they say! We were here first! Yet, as far as I can see, you, Andromeda Black, have contributed about as much to this culture as I have. Less, even. I'm in the Quidditch League Club and play for Ravenclaw, I'm President of The Wizarding Film and Music Student's Association. I'm a Prefect, I study as many subjects as you and I'm just as good at some, better at others. You can't ground yourself in your ancestry. Look at your cousin! He's been practically disowned by all of you Blacks and he's one of the most promising students in his year. Not because he's from the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, but because he's a charismatic, clever young lad. Having ancestors that shared your skills doesn't give you special rights. Why should it?"

 

She put down her book.

 

"Oh, but it does," she exclaimed, "Do you realize how many skills are lost each generation thanks to dilution of magic by Mudbloods? Parseltongues, Aquawimmen, Sciftanimales, Metamorphmagi? You hardly see them anymore. It used to be common for every newborn wizarding child to have a magical gift when we kept the magic within the magical community. Can you imagine how much we must have eradicated? Magic becomes weaker with each Muggle that marries into our world – so goes the theory. Do you think we can afford to find out if that's true? Dilute our magic until there's nothing left? Let our skills become extinct and merely tales to tell to our children?

 

"Muggles are advancing faster than ever, so they say, and, with each advancement, they come closer to rivaling us. Do you know they can send little bits of metal so fast into our bodies that we're instantly killed before magic can help? I suppose you would know that. Do you know that they've tried to burn us? They've tried to drown us and throw us to our deaths and torture the magic out of us.

 

"Every time we take in a Muggle-born student we tell another three, five, ten people about our world. It's astonishing that we're still safe. How do we know that those parents and siblings won't tell someone else who will tell another person and suddenly we'll have an army of Muggles, jealously trying to obtain what is ours? We can't know that and we take that risk everyday. And for what – so some Muggle child can attend our schools? How dangerous! How irresponsible! You're here now, Ted Tonks, and you're part of this world but it doesn't stop those of us who have always been here from resenting the risk you pose. What's to say your loyalties will stay with us once you've graduated? You could take what we've taught you and abuse it – you have no loyalty to us, our world or our culture. It's happened before, you know."

 

She was breathing heavily, her usual rhythmic whispers replaced by arrhythmic outrage. Her coffee curls were cascading over her shoulders, stray wisps snaking along the curves of her cheekbones and the arch of her nose. She pushed them back and murmured a spell so a lock twisted up and around the misbehaving strands, tying them firmly in place.

 

He was grinning, of all things. Grinning at her, like everything she'd said had been a humorous joke between him and a friend; like she was a young child who'd gotten her words muddled up. How dare he? Here she was, laying out the most potent and profound issues of their society and he was taking it lightly and _grinning_? She could feel the anger she'd just unleashed clawing its way back into her chest.

 

"I can see where you're coming from," Ted said thoughtfully, resting his head on his fist.

 

"You can?" she said with astonished wonder, "But you're Muggleborn."

 

It was a statement of fact. He was Muggleborn. Muggleborns didn't listen to reason. Muggleborns didn't understand words like loyalty and purity. Muggleborns weren't meant to have contemplative looks on their faces, like they could actually comprehend anything at all. Ted Tonks wasn't meant to seem intelligent. He shouldn't be able to hold himself in that confident, noble way. He shouldn't be able to be haughty and proud. That was her property.

 

"I understand being scared of change," he told her, taking a deep, calm breath. "I understand being scared of new things and different cultures and scared of attitudes you don't understand. You can't imagine how terrifying it is getting a letter that tells you you're a wizard. I mean, not only is there an entire world out there you've never heard of and all those fantastical creatures your mother used to read about are real, but you're a _part_ of it. It's this huge mix of relief, because you always knew you were different and now someone is telling you why, and petrifying fear because you don't know anything about anything and you're only eleven and you have to go face the unknown all on your own and you've never done anything alone or unknown before. It's like, one day, you're scared because you're going to a new school and only _some_ of your friends will be there. And then, the next day, you have this letter and you're not only going to a new school, you're a new person and that new person is a wizard."

 

She tilted her head, considering him. She was rather impressed with his lung capacity, if nothing else. Delicately, she said, "I never thought of what it would be like to discover the magical world."

 

"No. You never do." He didn't look at her. Instead, he studied the titles of some books on the third shelf. She felt a stab of annoyance at his arrogance. She couldn't stand it when Muggleborns went on about the trials of being a wizard and yet came year after year to her school.

 

"It really only reinforces my point about the danger of accepting Muggleborns, though. Wouldn't it have been easier for you, anyway, to stay in a world where you felt comfortable? Then we wouldn't have these issues. You could keep to your world, I could keep to mine."

 

Ted laughed. "Do you know what happens to untrained wizards, Andy?"

 

He leaned closer, as if to tell a dark secret, and she instinctively moved back. His senseless laugh escaped again. Jupiter, he was _still_ laughing at her!

 

She couldn't stand people laughing at her.

 

"Sometimes, magical Muggle children turn down their offer to Hogwarts. Their parents won't let them or don't believe it. They're terrified. These little kids can't leave behind the place they feel comfortable - there are so many reasons not to go to a strange school with strange people and strange magic. Just adjusting to the idea of the magical world is too much for some."

 

Great, she thought. Another inarticulate spiel about how hard it is to be a Muggleborn in a world of big bad witches. She didn't think she could listen to it and not look unbefittingly disgusted, so she interjected.

 

"Well, that's good, right? It's a privilege to come to this school. If some Muggle child turns it down, all the better for our world," she remarked disdainfully. The idea of someone turning down an offer was indecent. Sure, she didn't agree with Muggleborns being admitted at all, but it was insulting of them to reject the opportunity. Just because you don't want someone doesn't mean you don't want them to want you – she knew that all too well.

 

"Sure. It's great. They're these young kids with untrained magical power and they're going off to a Muggle school. I remember that uncontrolled magical power – did you feel that restless energy quivering through you once you turned eleven? Like there was a part of you couldn't manage? I kept making things explode. I changed my mother's hair to blue every time I got angry. I could control parts of it – I used to call things I wanted to me - but every time I got emotional bizarre things would happen.

 

"This still happens if you turn down your Hogwarts offer. The difference is, though, I went off, got a wand and learnt to channel my power. I don't explode things by accident anymore because I got to Hogwarts and we learnt how to deal with the intense magic cavorting through our blood and bones. Muggleborns who don't go to Hogwarts, they go to a Muggle school. They learn algebra and how to analyse Shakespeare and what happens when you put magnesium in hydrochloric acid. They don't get a wand. That magical power - our gift, as you put it - remains untamed.

 

"Usually, they learn how to keep it in a weak cage, after a while. Most won't be able to handle it for too long and they'll make their parents let them go or they'll run away and find us. It's that strong, magic is. We can't resist it; it calls us here. Some years, a little eleven year old will turn up at the gates having run away from their home and ask to be let in. Not often – there isn't that many of us – but it has happened. The eleven year olds that make their way here aren't really a problem. They start class and the professors help them catch up. Occasionally, however, someone will withstand the magic - they're being pulled by their very blood, but they'll hold on. They get used to the roaring desire and they hide their magic in a tiny corner of their heart. Sometimes they'll even forget it's there and they'll be normal, for a moment.

 

"They're not normal, though. The reason Muggleborns embrace Hogwarts – and don't get that look on your face, we do! The reason is, we've never been normal and it's so peaceful to finally know who you are. It's like you've been tumbling around under a heavy wave and suddenly you emerge from the whitewash and you can breathe. These kids never get that."

 

Light spilled in from a high window as a cloud moved, creeping over the books and the shelves. Ted looked up at it and smiled. Andromeda glared at his sun-kissed face.

 

"Great. So, they go through live not really knowing who they are. Most people can relate to that, " she scoffed. She didn't understand what he was getting at. She didn't want to know his life story. She'd rather listen to him talk about Ancient Runes than this. Merlin! She'd rather listen to him talk about Quidditch! Considering Ravenclaw had just beaten Slytherin the previous weekend that was saying something. She'd rather walk out of here and back to what she knew, but she couldn't leave and let him win. He smiled again and spoke.

 

"True, but there's more. A wizard or witch comes of age at seventeen, yes? This is because that's when our magical power matures – o r, more, begins to mature. Before that, it's still a very raw kind of magic. It's powerful in its own right, but in a more organic way. Once a wizard comes of age, his magic changes. It becomes stronger and more refined to his or her personality. That's why, while basic Transfiguration and Charms are so difficult to master for the young and only last as long as we're concentrating hard, they're second nature for older wizards. I'm sure you know this, of course. It's just important."

 

She knew what he meant. Even at sixteen, her magic was changing. It felt unfamiliar at times. Sometimes it was stubborn, sometimes delicate. He was staring, evaluating her, and it was unnerving. She nodded for him to continue and he took a deep breath and persevered.

 

"So, when a Muggleborn stays in the Muggle world until they're seventeen, their magic will also mature. It just won't mature like ours does. Ours shifts to best suit us, it becomes more part of us than it ever has. We've been training it for years to do our bidding and it naturally does that, perfecting itself to be what we unconsciously need. Theirs' does almost the opposite. They've been repressing it for so many years and it simply erupts. Everything they touch changes. They'll desire something and it will try to make it happen. A passing wish for a cup of tea becomes a boiling hot kettle flying at their head. Their magic is this feral beast wrecking havoc on the world around it. Now, this is horrible for them, obviously, but i's also incredibly obvious to anyone who happens to be near them. You can only explain why the seat you just sat on turned into a horse so many times."

 

"So they could expose everything," she finished, finally catching his point.

 

"The lady understands. Essentially, not letting Muggleborns into Hogwarts is more dangerous to our society than anything."

 

 "You know about raw magic, yes?" She appraised the boy in front of her, foolishly sincere and open. He nodded smugly. "You also must know then that Muggle children exhibit magical signs substantially later than a wizard-born child?"

 

She saw his self-satisfied air reside slightly as his chest fell and his shoulders loosened and she proceeded without a reply. "Every magical child, Muggle or otherwise, attracts this raw magic from when they are very young. We don't know why or how it happens, but if you follow the magical weight of a child from birth until they come of age, it slowly grows and seems to come from the earth itself. We don't know why this happens to some Muggle children and not others. However, we do know why the sons and daughters of wizarding children exert this pull. That matured magic of which you speak, it's passed via the blood, from a mother to her child. From conception, a pureblood has generations of matured magic in their veins. That untrained magic comes later, attracted inexplicably to the potent power already inherent in pureblood children. Muggleborns only have that raw magic. Every time a pureblood marries a Muggleborn, the ancient magic is weakened and thinned out. A pureblood child, I'm sure you've noticed, doesn't struggle with the simple like you do.

 

"I'm well aware that Muggleborns must be trained somewhere, but they _are not equal_ to a pureblood child. They _do not_ have the same kind of magic that we have yet we treat them like they do! It's been theorized that we've slowed the progression of the magical society by eons trying to accommodate Muggleborns. You, Ted Tonks, are a gifted wizard. I can admit that. Though, you work for it, don't you? You have to practice twice as hard as I do for the same result. There are whole subjects cut from the Hogwarts curriculum because they require a stronger magic than an underage wizard is able to perform. Magical children have distinct advantages here. They are more likely to be able to master those forms of magic. There are arts that are little by little being lost from our world as Muggleborns fight against the 'prejudice' and 'discrimination'. It's not about bigotry. It's about truth. You are different to me, Ted Tonks, and it's time the wizarding world accepted that."

 

She concluded forcefully, determined to shut down the ignorant fool of a boy. She didn't want to have to care what he thought. If she could just walk away and leave him and know that he wouldn't touch her life again, she would. However, he sat there, a fully accepted member of the magical community. He had all the rights she did and he didn't understand what that meant. Her pure blood boiled, the centuries of magic writhing at the atrocity of this young wizard who had no respect for their puissance.

 

Ted's arm lay easily over the edge of his seat. He didn't say anything, merely watched her with a lazy interest. She refused to let him see her turmoil, glad of the multitude of hours she'd spent being seen and not heard. She was very good at appearing calm. He leant forward towards her, again. She remained still. He leaned a little closer, spurred on. She stayed still, not meeting his eye. He took a deep, preparing breath.

 

"You're right, Andromeda. Muggleborns are inferior – I mean, they have more trouble picking up spells and have to work harder. They don't have any ancestors with grand histories and opulent homes. So it, naturally, follows that it's because they're beneath you. Naturally, it's because their power is lesser. You must have an inherited the magic of Merlin and that's why you have less trouble when you're young. Right?

 

She nodded slowly. She could hear the sarcasm in his words so she remained careful in her gaze and the slight acknowledging tilt of her head that encouraged him to finish his point.

 

"It couldn't _possibly_ be because you've grown up in the magical world, no? It couldn't be that you've expected to go to Hogwarts since you were little and so you're not in constant shock at the loneliness and the unfamiliar, could it? It couldn't be that you've grown up exposed to magic and seen someone swish and _flick_ a million times before."

 

He glared at her pointedly. "The theory that ancient magic is passed down via blood – well, it could be true. I've never really considered it to be too strongly grounded in logic, but you purebloods are like that. It just doesn't make any sense that growing up in the magical world gives one a distinct advantage on starting at a magical school, does it? The farmer's daughter has no advantage on the land, to be sure. Yes, I admit, there is some study I do that my pureblood counterparts take as assumed knowledge. That couldn't be because their father is Head of The Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes instead of a mechanic, could it, Andromeda?"

 

Andromeda was tempted to roll her eyes, but refrained. "You're at a disadvantage, Ted, but _so are we_. This is the part Muggle lovers' miss - you hold us back! Everything you've recounted – it means you're not at the same skill level as us. I don't understand why we insist on keeping the schools mixed."

 

Ted laughed sardonically. "Yes – and while we're at it we can make a separate wing at St Mungo's for when Muggleborns have accidents. Perhaps have a Knight bus, for the wizards, and a Day bus for the Mudbloods? Maybe we can put in separate bathrooms and rooms at The Leaky Cauldron? Or will we even allow Mudbloods in there? They can have their own pub; you don't want the likes of them dirtying your space. The best services must be reserved for the pure and noble. How archaic! Where do you draw the line? You say it's not about discrimination, but how can you believe that? You haven't ever given myself or any other Muggleborn the slightest chance. You base your opinions on the beliefs of your fathers and flimsy, unproved theories without scrutiny. You accept that we are lesser than you without knowing us. That's the very definition of prejudice. You judge us based on preconceived options – opinions that aren't even really yours - because you have to have at least considered a topic to have an opinion on it and you havenï¿½t ever examined your beliefs, have you? How else can we divide up society to please you, Miss Black? Dumb and smart? Male and female? Black and white? Old and young? Gay and straight? Does that sound appropriate? Does that seem just?"

 

The last of the evening sunlight spilled softly through the small high windows of the library, giving a surreal orange glow to the tall bookshelves. Their corner was hidden from any direct rays and had suddenly become dim with that surprisingly rapid retreat afternoon sunlight loves to conduct. A flickering candle lit spontaneously above Ted's head, it's gentle glimmer playing on Andromeda's aristocratic neck and haughty cheekbones. Ted's golden hair seemed to capture the glow and his head almost shined, surrounded with a halo of light.

 

Andromeda would have scoffed at the irony had she noticed, but she was locked on the angry eyes of one Ted Tonks.

 

"Don't give you a chance? We don't give you a chance?" She laughed, forgetting to remain serene and noble and follow all the lessons she'd ever learned from her mother. "All we give you are chances! You're here! You're in our classes! You have jobs in our institutions! We spend every freaking day with you for most of the year! How can we give you more of a 'chance'? You've already received the greatest chance of all - magic! You don't even get it, do you? You already have all the chances this world can offer you and you want more? Take our dignity too, why don't you?"

 

She felt on fire. Her body burned with indignant outrage. For too long had she been second to Mudbloods. For too long had she quelled her anger when a Mudblood took a year to learn a spell or acted like they were victimized or dared to speak down to her when she was a Black. For too long had family and tradition meant nothing to half her world.

 

Ted touched her hand and she jolted out of her thoughts and nearly out of her seat. She could feel the ghost of his fingers on hers like ants dirtying her skin. He grinned that quizzical grin he couldn't seem to shake off.

 

"Ok. I disagree with a lot of what you're saying. Just as a minor example, take a look at the top positions in the ministry. There isn't one Muggleborn in the lot. There has never been a Muggleborn Minister of Magic. There has never even been a Muggleborn Head of The Department of Magical Law Enforcement! There has never been a Muggleborn Wandmaker! Muggleborns and halfbloods have invented ten times more spells, potions and contraptions than purebloods in the past fifty years and what credit do they get? None!"

 

He paused, resentful expression frozen for a minute. He then inexplicably laughed and shook his head. "I'm sorry, I completely lost my original point then. What I meant to say was, while I don't agree with a lot of what you think, I have a proposition. Are you up for it?"

 

He raised his eyebrows and beamed.

 

"Sure," she said, unperturbed. Like her pride would let her have a choice. He looked too pleased with himself and she almost wished she'd said no.

 

"Ok. So, you think you've given me a chance and I've obviously failed dismally, based on how you treat me. I think you've never bothered to try and most of your hate is based on prejudice and lies from your fathers. We have to do this project despite all this. So, I propose we agree to get along. You have to genuinely try to like me and keep an open mind. Give me a real shot. If at the end of the assignment you'e still convinced you're right then I'll accept that and leave you be."

 

She hesitantly tilted her head. "What do I get out of this? Please don't tell me it's the chance to get to know you because that's hardly a prize."

 

"You get the satisfaction of knowing you were right. You get to do this project as quickly and efficiently as possible. You get to be open-minded for once in your life." He grinned inwardly at this. He was always grinning, of course, but she could tell he was absolutely bursting at the seams with this particular stupid whim.

 

She was torn. She didn't want to back down, especially not from something Ted Tonks suggested. She also didn't want to be nice to the blasted boy. She weighed her values against her pride and her pride won.

 

"I accept," she said and, for the second time that night extended her hand to a boy she had been raised to believe was filthy and worthless. He grabbed it enthusiastically and this time she matched him.

 

\---

 

Pinpointing the moments when your life is about to change is impossible. They arrive without warning. They're elusive when you search for them and boldly announce themselves when you don't. It's the moments you let slip by without a thought that end up haunting you. It's when you make a slight change to your daily grind that you turn your life upside down. Life-changing moments have a way of sneaking up on you like the sunset in winter.

 

She didn't know this yet, but she would.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

  _Like it? Hate it? Tell me!  
_

 


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